


We're Going to Steal a Cannibal's Hors D'oeuvres

by harleygirl2648



Category: Hannibal (TV), Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Leverage Fusion, Sneaking Around, because you've come to the right place, fistfights, hi did you want to see eliot spencer and hannibal lecter throw down, takes place around the beginning of season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 21:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10422489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleygirl2648/pseuds/harleygirl2648
Summary: AU, taking place around the beginning of season 2 of Hannibal. Will hires the Leverage crew to find enough evidence to frame Hannibal. However, everything is not how it seems.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaryWisdom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryWisdom/gifts).



> @MaryWisdom YOU DID THIS TO ME. THIS IS YOUR FAULT. SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY.

“I have to say, Mr. Graham,” Nate said, leaning back in his chair as he studied the nearly unblinking man sitting up straight on his cot, “That we usually don’t get clients who are already imprisoned for serial murder.”

“I’m innocent,” Will insisted, frenzy just on the edge of his tongue. “I swear, it - it wasn’t me. I’m not the copycat, and - and I’m not the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“Not accusing you, just stating a fact,” Nate shot back. “Continue, please.”

“I am not the Chesapeake Ripper,” Will stated again, slower this time and even more serious. “But I know who _is.”_

“Who is it, then?”

“Hannibal Lecter,” Will glares. There is what looks like burning hatred in his eyes and voice. “And even though I know he’s the killer, I’ve been declared legally insane, nobody will ever believe me.”

Nate chews on the top of his pen thoughtfully before asking. “So what do you want us to do for you, Mr. Graham?”

“I want you to find the evidence to convict Hannibal Lecter.”

Nate nods. “Sure thing, sounds easy enough. Do you have any idea where we could look for proof?”

Will suddenly lets out a harsh, bitter laugh, and he smiles in spite of himself. “In the pudding,” he whispers.

 

 

Eliot shot Nate a look over his beer before taking a hard sip and setting the bottle down. “We’re going to do what for who?”

“We are going to help Will Graham prove that he is not the Chesapeake Ripper,” Nate states as easily as though he was declaring that the sky was indeed blue. Eliot shook his head.

“The Chesapeake Ripper is one of the most prolific serial killers alive in the US right now, Nate. Do you know what he _does_ to his victims?”

“Eats them,” Hardison supplies, coming into the room and booting up the monitor. “That’s nasty, man, why the hell did you get us mixed up in this mess?”

“You know the Ripper pulled out a man’s tongue and stuck it in his Bible for a bookmark,” Eliot added. “That’s gross.”

Nate rolled his eyes as Sophie took a seat beside him. “Yeah, it is, thank you for that. Hardison, what do you have on Lecter?”

Hardison stood up as pictures of Dr. Hannibal Lecter flooded the screen, then turned dramatically to the group and threw his hands in the air. “I got nothing.”

“What do you mean nothing, Hardison, you can always find dirt on someone.”

“No way, man. This guy doesn’t even have a parking ticket to his name, he’s squeaky clean.”

Parker immediately raised her hand, waving it like mad, and Hardison smiled. “Yeah, Parker, what is it?”

She put her hand down and scrunched up her face as she studied the picture on the screen. “Nobody’s that clean unless they're hiding something,” she stated. “Perfect people creep me out, there have to be bodies in his basement.”

“That’s a valid point, Parker,” Nate said, “But it’s not proof, we need proof. And in order to get truth, we need to get on his good side. Who wants some therapy?”

Sophie gave him a withering look before poking his shoulder. “What about you, Nate?”

“Very funny, Sophie. No, Lecter’s smart, if he sees too many of us in each other’s presence, he’ll know someone’s up to something,” Nate says as he stands up, starting to pace around the room. “So we need to approach him carefully, tread the waters.”

“How do we do that?” Eliot says, rolling his eyes. Nate smirked, holding up two invitations to an art gallery opening. Sophie’s eyes widen in interest.

“We’re going to steal the _hors d'oeuvres.”_

 

 

So as it turned out, Hannibal Lecter had provided three different platters of appetizers for the gallery opening. The plan was for Sophie to distract Hannibal as one of the board members of the Smithsonian, Charlotte Rivers, with a conversation about the artwork, and Eliot would pocket a few of the appetizers so they could send them to a lab.

“I don’t like this,” Eliot hissed. Hardison rolled his eyes back at their current headquarters.

“Man, just charm a couple batty old ladies, you’ll fit in fine.”

“No,” Elliot muttered, looking back to where Sophie was engaged in a deep conversation about the virtues of Rembrandt with the doctor in question. “I don’t like him.”

“You think he’s a murderer, of course you don’t like him.”

Elliot shook his head as he tossed back a whiskey sour. “No, Hardison, I can’t put my finger on it. He’s got a mask on.”

“A mask?”

“Not a literal one, dumbass.”

“Hey, I’m a prodigy, man, I’m _gifted,_ don't talk to me like-”

“Shut up, listen to me. He’s got this perfectly crafted mask on him, it’s evident in his posture, in his voice, in his eyes.”

“So you wouldn’t trust him as far as you could throw him?”

“I trust him about as far as _you_ could throw him,” Eliot snarks back, smirking as he heard Hardison scoff.

 

 

“The Smithsonian is ever so grateful for your contribution to this exhibition, Dr. Lecter,” Sophie said in a slight Southern accent, allowing herself a small sip of wine. Hannibal mirrored her action, taking a drink from his own glass.

“I’ve always been a proud supporter of the arts.”

“Then it would seem that we have something in common, doctor,” she smiled, pulling out all the stops. Lecter smiled with his eyes, not with his mouth.

“It would appear so,” he says, then after a pause, he adds, “Miss _Devereaux.”_

Sophie finds herself breaking character for the first time in a long time, and she felt her hand tremble as she held the stem of the wineglass a little tighter. Hannibal’s smile made her stomach feel like it was twisting into knots, and he maintained eye contact with her as he gestured over to the Rembrandt in question.

“Fitting, is it not? The painting is a fake, Miss Devereaux. I would think a woman of excellent taste like yourself would not waste her time with it, as it is obvious that the frame is far newer than it should be for it to be the original. And that particular shade of green paint was not developed until three years after Rembrandt’s demise.”

Sophie tried not to bite her lip, instead doing the rest of her wine before stating coldly, “Excuse me, doctor.”

He nodded, that damn not-smirk on his face that made her sick, and as soon as she was far enough away she whispered harshly, “Hardison, get us out of here, _now,_ he’s on to me.”

“Gotcha, we’re in the car three streets down. Eliot, you in?”

“Not at the moment,” Eliot said through gritted teeth, as turned around from the waiter holding out a platter of prosciutto roses, removing one and then looking up right into Hannibal Lecter’s eyes. He made himself smile as he adjusted his glasses, “Don’t think we’ve introduced ourselves, I’m Rex Carlson.”

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” the other man smiles back offering his hand for a shake. Eliot noted the smoothness of his hands, they were obviously exfoliated to remove calluses from work. Not something your everyday therapist needs to do. And his grip is surprisingly strong.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Hannibal asks.

“Honestly, between you and me, it’s pretty dry to pretend to be excited about a fake Rembrandt,” Eliot replied, and Hannibal nodded in agreement.

“You are an art expert as well?”

“Not in the least, my ex-girlfriend was though, I picked up a few things from her." Eliot laughed. "No, I'm just here because I appreciate good food, doctor.”

“As do I. What do you think of the prosciutto, I salt and dry the meat myself.”

Suddenly realizing the position he was in, Eliot smiled a little wider and lifted the delicately crafted rose to his mouth and chewed it slowly. He swallowed it before saying, “It’s delicious. Where did you get the meat, it’s... _unlike_ any pork I’ve ever had.”

“I employ an ethical butcher,” Hannibal replies. “I find that the meat has a more refined flavour depending on its mood at the time of slaughter. My butcher tends to work quickly.”

Elliot nods. “No reason to let anything suffer.”

“I would agree. If you’ll excuse me, I haven't spoken to Mrs. Komeda yet. Here is my card,” Hannibal says, offering a business card before nodding and walking away. As soon as Eliot is sure he is three times out of earshot, he grabs a drink off of a nearby tray and downs it, then he whispers, “Hardison.”

“Yeah, man, come outside, we’re pulling the car up.”

“Yeah, ugh, it’s human meat, I tasted it.”

“...You WHAT?! And you got that from one bite?”

“It’s a very _distinctive_ taste,” Eliot mutters as he heads outside.

 

 

It has been five days since Will had first called them in, and Will had just been released from the BSHCI because the Ripper left a murder tableau that cleared him of his charges. The Ripper had set him free. But the team was still on this case, because they had promised to put Lecter away. Sophie refused to go out in the field anymore, she was terrified that he had seen right through her so easily, had strung her along so long. Parker offered to go in as a patient in for undercover work, but Hardison told her that he shouldn’t let people like that poke around in her head.

“But he won’t,” Parker pouted, ripping open a fortune cookie and tossing the fortune inside away. “My brain’s got six sliding bolt locks on it, only half of them locked so that no matter how many times you pick at them, you’re always relocking three.”

“Parker, your brain is a beautiful thing, girl. Never change.”

Eliot had made the most progress, having 'accidentally' run into Lecter at a local culinary exposition, and receiving an invitation to dinner at his home. Parker would go in the car with him, and she'd break in from upstairs while he conversed with the doctor downstairs.

"It should go off without a hitch as long as Parker's quiet," Nate said. "And she's always quiet."

 

 

Hannibal Lecter had a very simple security system, Parker noted. Enough so that he could say that he had one, but weak enough that someone bound and determined could break through it. He was the type who liked his privacy, so if he had some sort of system, it was one he would set up himself. He was confident in himself, good. She liked a challenge.

She easily slipped through the upstairs guest bedroom window, landing softly before she gathered up her climbing harness and rope. Eliot had a conversation with Lecter going in the kitchen, so she crept silently down the stairs. The stairs were in perfect condition, they didn’t even feel like they were going to creak. The house was set up in such a way that the basement entrance didn’t face the kitchen, it was hidden back behind the staircase. The lock on it was nothing more than a padlock, it looked so innocuous.

“I’ll bet you keep your collection of creepy porcelain dolls down here, weirdo,” she muttered, easily picking it and slipping into the pitch blackness of the basement, closing the door carefully behind her. She switched on her flashlight, taking one step after another until she reached the bottom. out of the corner of her eyes she spotted the expensive freezer.

“Jackpot,” Parker whispered, walking over and opening it up. Yes, it was unnerving to see packages of human meat cut and arranged as neat as a deli counter, but what shocked her was the moment she heard behind her. Immediately she whipped around with the flashlight, and nearly dropped it, her eyes going wider than an owl’s. Maybe they were wider than the strange young girl in front of her.

“Are - are you a doll?” she asked in a whisper. The girl slowly blinked at her, and Parker noticed something else. “Your ear, it’s - where _is_ it?”

“I don’t know,” the girl mumbled, and she sounded broken, Parker knew what that sounded like. She was starting to get upset. “I - I didn’t know what else to do, so I just did what he told me.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Parker said quickly, now was not the time to deal with a breakdown. “Let’s start over, ‘kay? I - I’m Parker, who are you?”

“My - my name is Abigail Hobbs, it’s 7:30 PM, and I am in Baltimore, Maryland,” the girl said softly, like she was reassuring herself that she existed. 

Parker took that in, then whispered, “Hardison?”

“Yeah, Parker?”

“I found the freezer.”

“Great, grab some-”

“And I found a girl, can we keep her?”

“Sure, but first- wait, WHAT did you just say?!”

 

 

“You hold your knife a certain way,” Eliot said out loud, locking eyes with Hannibal. The tension in the entire room suddenly shot up, and Hannibal paused in the cutting of the cilantro. “Same way a hunter has control of a knife. You’re comfortable with it, it’s an extension of yourself.”

Hannibal scrapes the chopped cilantro aside very slowly with the knife with a smile. “Astute observation.”

“You never use a gun because those can be traced, and gunpowder leaves a residue on the meat that makes it seem like you’re licking an ashtray,” Eliot continues as Hannibal uses his finger to remove the final scraps from the blade.

“And guns lack an intimacy, and elegance. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I don’t like guns,” Eliot mutters and he really wants to smack the smirk off of this bastard’s face.”

“How _fortunate.”_ Hannibal’s eyes are clouded over with a darkness he’s familiar with, but something even more dangerous below the surface.

And then the knife is suddenly gone from his hand and it is flying through the air, directly at Eliot’s face. He manages to avoid it as Hannibal leaps over the counter far too gracefully for the near-feral expression on his face, swinging a different knife. He blocks a hit once, twice, third time it slices through his sleeve and he hisses at the stinging sensation of his blood being exposed to the cold air. Now it’s his turn and he swings again, getting a hit right under Hannibal’s ribs, stunning him just enough so that Eliot can shove him backwards onto the counter, raising his fist to strike again, but Lecter hits him hard against the side of the head with a pepper grinder. He rears back on reflex, unfortunately giving Hannibal the upper hand. Hannibal grabs a dishcloth and uses it to wrap around Elliot's hand and yank on it, hard, hard enough that he can feel the nerves twisting and he vainly punches Hannibal hard in the shoulder one, two, three times. Eliot gives a little, letting Hannibal pull him closer so that Eliot can kick out his ankle, knocking him down a notch, then kicks him hard one time in the ribs to keep him down. He then wraps his arms around Hannibal’s neck and just _squeezes._

He’s almost got Lecter seemingly unconscious when there’s a knock at the front door.

“Hannibal?”

_Will Graham?!_

That fact alone shocks Eliot enough to pause for one brief second, and that’s all Hannibal needs to bite his hand hard enough to break the skin and let the blood rush out, and then he’s out of Eliot’s grip and one hard punch to Eliot’s right lung sends him to the ground. Eliot sputters, pulling himself back up off the ground only to look right into the side of the refrigerator door opening and slamming hard into his face, causing him to collapse, trying to breathe through a bloody nose and blood in his mouth. The next thing he knows, he’s being physically picked up off the ground _(arrogant son of a bitch who needs one good punch, come on put me down-)_ and he registers the basement door opening and he feels himself being dropped down onto the top stair. He rolls himself down to get away, feeling the sharp stabs of each individual stair as he falls down to the bottom. The door closes, it doesn't even slam. It simply closes, and he can hear it lock as he’s plunged into complete darkness.

“Eliot!” Parker, holy shit, Parker, god bless this crazy woman, he thinks as she scurries over with her piercingly bright flashlight, dropping down next to him and surveying his wounds. Hardison’s voice comes in over their coms.

“Hey guys, there’s a new development that you might find important-”

“Not now, Hardison,” Eliot groans.

“No, man, listen to me, Graham took us _off_ the case. He doesn't want to convict Lecter anymore.”

“Dammit, Hardison!” Eliot snaps, trying to work out the kink in his neck. “Are you telling me I just got bitten by a cannibal and locked in his basement with Parker for _nothing?!”_

“He just canceled, literally five minutes ago, what did you want- wait, you’re _where?”_

“Get us a way out,” Eliot snarls, pulling himself to his feet, checking himself over. Nothing too critical, possibly a concussion, severe bruising, and he needs to clean that wound on his hand, but he’ll live.

_If they get out here alive._

Parker gives him a quick, abrupt hug. “You didn’t get eaten, good for you. Come meet Abigail.”

“Who?” he asks, thinking that his head is throbbing and he must not have heard her correctly. But no, a young girl, barely past a teenager, comes out from the shadows. She looks hesitant, afraid. His heart feels like breaking, she’s too young to be mixed up in this mess, and damn, he _really_ wants to crack Lecter’s head open now.

“That sick son of a bitch,” he mutters, wiping the blood dribbling out of his nose. “Hardison, update, what’s our way out?”

“Um, yeah, there’s an issue here. He uh, he doesn’t have any sort of hackable security system. It’s all key locks. In fact, the closest hackable system is the place next door, and none of their cameras face his place.”

“Super,” Parker groaned, reaching out and taking Abigail’s hand gently. “Hey, so, you should come with us, ‘cause you shouldn’t be someone’s chipped porcelain doll for display.”

“What-”

“You ever take off a doorknob?” Parker grins, creeping up the stairs, still holding the girl’s hand. And Abigail smiles, a real one, and her face cracks as she doesn’t feel as hollow anymore.

Parker had removed the doorknob, and since Elliot had muttered that the front door is completely visible from the kitchen, and the back door is only accessible through the kitchen. And there’s always a chance Hannibal and Will might be in the sitting room, so those windows are blocked. So as Eliot bites his tongue hard enough ath it hurts to not groan from his injuries, all three silently make their way up from the basement and up the front staircase. Parker leads them back to the guest room where she left her ropes.

“Let’s hurry before they come back,” Parker tells Abigail, and she nods as Parker straps her into a harness. “Just relax, I won’t drop you, promise.”

Then she helps Abigail over the side of the window and gently lowers her down to the ground, and coaches her on how to unhook herself.

Eliot blinks hard, trying to keep himself thinking straight as he hides in the darkest corner of the room. Damn light sensitivity, even the barest glowing of the street lamps make his headache even more. He’s about to close his eyes for some relief when the door barely opens and Hannibal slips into the room like ink flooding a page. He’s fast, _too_ fast, and he’s got a knife cradled in his left hand as he heads towards an unaware Parker as she pulls the rope up. He doesn't think, he barks out, “Hey asshole!”

Hannibal’s head turns and Eliot smirks, cracking the dried blood on his lip, “The beef tips were a little too rare.” 

The knife comes dangerously close to cutting right through Elliot's stomach if his fist hadn’t been faster and connected _right_ with his lower jaw with a satisfying _crunch._ Hannibal collapses onto the ground, out cold. Parker whips around in shock. “What the-”

“Let’s go,” he barks out. “Get in the-”

“No!” she insists, poking him in the chest hard before forcefully strapping him into the harness and pushing him towards the window. “Go, you’re hurt, you first, I’ll make sure you land smoothly.”

Eliot tries to protest but the pain in his head wins out, and he’s lowered down and unhooked the harness. Parker has pulled it back up and is about to put it on herself when she hears footsteps behind her and she turns to see Will Graham standing there behind her. Oh, _no,_ he looks _creepy_ like this. Like an evil puppy.

“Sorry,” he states plainly, and then he moves fast as lightning and pushes her hard towards the window and then she’s - she’s _falling._

_She’s falling._

She’s falling and it’s only two stories but she’s still falling. No rope, just her and the brittle air until she lands on something decidedly solid, but not the ground. Onto a…

_...body._

“Eliot!” she squeals, hitting him in the chest before she remembers that he’s hurt, and she climbs off of him. “Why would you do that, you might have a broken rib now!”

He shrugs, then mutters gruffly, “I didn’t want you to splatter on the sidewalk, I don’t care, Parker. Let’s go.”

They meet Abigail who was waiting just out of sight on the street corner, scuffing her feet on the gravel.

“Hardison,” Eliot huffs into the com.

“Holy shit, y'all are alive. Is Parker-”

“She’s fine, promise. We’re heading out.”

 

 

Three weeks later, after Eliot has recovered and they located someone to give Abigail a prosthetic ear and actual _helpful_ psychiatry from one of the best in the city, Hardison calls them all into the front room with a big smile.

“Abby, girl, you’ve been doing so great, that I got a special surprise for you,” he says, very pleased with himself.

“What is it?” Abigail says, a smile on her own lips, a sight that was becoming less and less rare the longer she had stayed with them. Hardison slid an ID across the table.

“Hello, _Claire Reynolds,”_ he grins. “You just got accepted to Seattle University with a full-ride scholarship.”

She gasped, looking at the new ID, then back up at him and the team, all looking just as excited as she was. “Are you - are you serious?”

“Hell yeah, I didn’t get you into an honors dorm for nothing. And Abigail Hobbs, for all intents and purposes, is dead. So congrats, you get to start over. Away from here.”

“Thank you,” she nods, biting her lip so she wouldn’t cry. “Thank you, _all_ of you. Especially you, Parker.”

“No problem,” Parker grins, giving her a tight hug that lasted for approximately five seconds before pulling away. “Did I show you how to undo a triple padlock?”

“Yes,” Abigail sighed in mock exasperation, getting up and rolling her eyes as she laughed again. “I’m going to grab my purse, Sophie, I’ll be back down in a second.”

Sophie smiles and nods, and Abigail heads to her room to get her things. Nate gives her a look.

“Where are you two going?”

“The _salon,_ Nate,” Sophie grins. “She needs a new haircut, and there’s nothing like a nice mani-pedi to feel like a new woman.”

Nate nods. “Sounds good. Hardison,” he calls over his shoulder as Hardison walks into the kitchen to grab an orange soda. “Any news on Lecter or Graham?”

Three days after Eliot and Parker had escaped with Abigail, Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham were gone. The FBI, according the reports Hardison found, had planned to raid his house on that night, only for him to be gone. Will was found missing later the next day.

“Nothin’, man,” Hardison sighed. “They are G-O-N-E, _gone.”_

“Hey Nate,” Eliot sneers, adjusting himself so he can look at Nate without turning his neck and aggravating his neck injury even further. “Next time some guy’s already in a mental hospital and accused of being a serial killer, maybe don’t agree with him right away.”

“How was I supposed to know they had a thing going?” Nate shrugged. “How was I, or any of us, supposed to know that the Chesapeake Ripper and the copycat had been flirting with elaborate murder tableaus for months, and they had a fight which ended with one of them in jail, so they attempted to make up by sending us against the other one to kill.”

“Romantic, really,” Hardison said. “Mazel tov to the both of ‘em."

Eliot scowls, settling back in his chair. "This head injury just made me realize something: why didn't we have Hardison scan Lecter's grocery bills?"

Nate sets down the drink in his hand. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Nate, that Lecter used a lot of meat for someone who doesn't _buy any."_

Nate had the decency to look sheepish.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave comments and kudos galore, i love responding to them!


End file.
